Chapter 5: The Butcher

P: 26 M: 29 S: 18

--Monday, 24^th May, 1999--

I grimaced as I pulled my sword free of a monster’s body, the four-legged, spiny creature – like the progeny of a rat and porcupine – still twitching as it died on the cold stone floor of the Tristram cathedral. I was already tired, and I hadn’t even found level two yet. I stared around the dark room, the only light coming from a single torch on a nearby wall and several standing candle racks. The dark blood on my blade glinted wetly in the dim light.

The torches and candles weren’t giving the only light to see by; there was a faint nimbus surrounding me, not very strong but enough that I could make out my surroundings in a vague sort of way, even in pitch darkness. My guess was that it was the base light radius of my character.

So far, I’d hacked my way through a few of those spiny things and some skeletons, but nothing too serious, yet. I knew all too well what was waiting for me down on the lower levels, though. Despite the tension and foreboding in the musty air – as if I was always one step away from another near-death experience – I found that I was quite enjoying the game. The short sword in my hand felt good, as did the buckler on my other arm. I’d gone with the Warrior class, feeling none too confident about the other two options. If I was going to brave the cathedral’s depths, I wanted to be able to withstand attacks. As soon as I’d chosen the Warrior, I’d become him. I was strong and fit and ready to face what came.

I left the room via the single archway through which I’d entered and continued my way down the wide corridor, treading softly so as not to alert anything to my presence unnecessarily. I still had three health potions on my belt, and one mana. I hadn’t had to use one, yet, but I was ready to leg it back to the exit if I found a group of monsters I couldn’t handle.

I entered another archway off the main corridor and walked right into a group of six zombies, the air pungent with the stench of their rotting flesh. Christ! I thought frantically as I awkwardly swung my sword at the first one. The blade dug into its upper arm, partially severing the limb, but the zombie appeared unconcerned. It swiped at me with its other arm and I only just managed to get my shield up in time. I tried to shuffle back, but something grabbed me from behind and I felt sharp teeth dig into my shoulder. How did they surround me so quickly? The zombies in front of me lurched forward, uttering a chorus of chilling moans as they reached for me with cold, decaying hands.

Adrenaline lent me the extra strength I needed to shake myself free and stab the closest one through the neck. I was relieved when it collapsed to the floor in a heap. With a cry, I threw myself forward, clearing a path with my buckler in an effort to give myself room to swing. I was faster than they were, and they stumbled awkwardly as they regained their balance. Once through them, I put a few steps between us before turning to face them, sword ready. The room wasn’t large, and there were only a few metres between me and the zombies.

“Dianne?” I called, wishing my voice didn’t sound so squeaky. “I can’t die in a game, right?” I knew I couldn’t, but I still felt the need to ask again. Beneath my shirt – and the motheaten rags I’d obtained earlier – hot blood was leaking down my arm and chest from where I’d been bitten.

It is my priority to keep you alive, Jake, Dianne assured me, though she did not offer any more. My mind raced. Fight? Or bail out of the game? I could take five zombies, right?

Once again, you are in a predicament, Cloud’s voice said in my head. Want some help?

“That would be nice!” I grated sarcastically as I backed up against a bookshelf. The zombies shambled closer.

You’ve put yourself into a corner, and you’re surrounded, Cloud observed calmly. But at least you have a sword... I felt him press himself against my mind and I relaxed, allowing him control, but he stopped. You know what? I think you can handle this one, Jake. At that, I felt his presence lessen, though it remained in the background as if he was watching from the sidelines.

“What?” I shouted, panicked. “You can’t do this to me!” There was no reply from Cloud, but I could feel him watching. I was out of time; the zombies had shambled almost within arm’s reach of me, their rotting fingers outstretched at the end of decrepit arms. With a desperate cry, I lunged forward, swinging my sword as hard as I could. A few fingers and an arm fell to the stony floor, but I might as well have given them a bunch of flowers for all the difference it made. On they came, groaning and grunting.

A sudden flash of anger welled in me. I was pissed off at Dianne for being unhelpful, and Cloud even more so. Sure, I could exit the game, but I would feel like a coward, especially after all the training I’d had. The anger turned to strength and began to pump in my veins, making me feel invincible. Whatever this was, I’d never felt it before, but I didn’t have time to exult. With a roar, I threw my buckler aside and took my sword in both hands. My body worked itself without me having to think about it, vaulting me forward and up over the zombies’ heads to land behind them with the grace of a cat. From there, I flowed forward and began to work the sword as if I’d held it all my life.

Moments later – it felt like minutes, but it couldn’t have taken more than half of one – I stood looking down at six corpses on the floor, two of them cloven down the middle, and another halved the other way, across the torso. Panting, I grounded my sword and took a breather.

Well done, Cloud said in my head. Couldn’t have done that better myself.

“Thanks,” I panted. “Though it would’ve been easier if you’d just told me I could do that.”

But would you have believed me? Cloud countered. I grunted in response, but I had to admit he was right; I would not have listened to him. I realised then that I was grinning from ear to ear, feeling exhilarated from the fight. There was something so... satisfying about chopping down monsters. It was the same way I’d felt after that fight in the carpark, though I’d been more scared, then.

Looking around, a chest in the corner of the room near the bookshelves caught my eye. I made for it, picking up my buckler on the way. I opened it gingerly, remembering that chests in this game were notorious for being trapped, but relaxed when I didn’t hear the tell-tale clicking of a nasty surprise. Inside was an axe of much finer quality than the sword I was holding.

“Hmmm,” I mused as I lay my sword down and picked up the axe. It was heavier than the sword, but not by much, and probably made for one hand judging by the short haft. “I wonder if you’re magic,” I asked the weapon as I turned it over. The blade gleamed dully in the faint light from the torches on the walls. Its edge was sharp and unmarred by chips or scratches.

With no scrolls of identify on me, I’d need to find one to see what the axe could really do. I searched the nearby bookshelves, rifling through mouldering parchments and decayed tomes before finding two neatly rolled scrolls lying together at the end of a shelf. Grinning, I pulled them down and inspected them. One was covered in blue runes, the other red. If I was right, the blue one was a town portal spell, while the other was an identify. I’m not sure how I activated it, exactly, but after thinking about the axe with the red scroll in my hand, I felt a sudden change flowing from the hand that gripped the weapon’s haft, and knowledge of the weapon’s properties blazed in my mind with irrefutable certainty:

Axe of the Bear: +1 Strength. Durability 40/40.

“Nice!” I crowed as I brandished my new weapon. Tucking the sword behind my belt with the intention of selling it later, I left the room and continued my quest, only stopping to quaff a health potion. The bite in my shoulder sealed itself up instantly and left me feeling great. I explored the rest of the first level until I finally reached the stairs down. There was no more excitement in the shadowed stone halls apart from another chest which held a health potion and a leather cap. The potion went into one of the small leather loops on my belt. The cap I eagerly fitted onto my head, grateful for the extra protection.

I descended the wide, dark stairs to the second level, full of trepidation about what lay ahead, but feeling confident with my new axe. The next floor was much the same as the first; a sprawling room with halls leading off from archways in the walls. The floor was littered with clusters of barrels and the odd stone coffin, at least within my radius of vision. What awaited beyond that, I had yet to discover.

“Should’ve picked a game with some tits,” I muttered to myself, only half-joking as I walked warily into the room, my head swivelling as I searched for monsters.

Dianne’s monotone suddenly bloomed in my mind. That can be arranged, Jake.

“How?” I asked in a hushed voice, forgetting I could just speak to her in my mind. “I wouldn’t have thought I was synced enough yet.”

Some simple modifications can be made, she replied. Though the extent of these will be limited until you synchronise further.

“And how synced am I currently?”

Five percent.

I frowned. That wasn’t much. I doubted – largely from the lack of attractive female presence in this game – that any modifications would be anything more than grotesque. I’d played this game through many times and I was pretty sure I didn’t want to see anything in here with tits.

“I’m good for now,” I told Dianne. “Thanks, though.” I needed to stay focused; I wanted the physical improvements almost as much as I wanted the rampant sex. Besides, I hadn’t exactly picked Diablo with lascivious thoughts in mind. If anything, I wanted more monsters to come so I could slay them. That thought should have troubled me, but it didn’t.

As you wish, Jake.

At that moment, the sound of bone scraping on stone brought my head around to the right where a skeleton was approaching, rusty sword raised. I readied myself. Here we go again. I couldn’t see the grim smile on my own face as I began to swing.

*

Level two was only slightly more challenging than level one, with a few mobs of skeletons and zombies to dispatch, plus more of those little four-legged critters that like to jump at you. I took a few bumps and scrapes, but nothing major. My rags were replaced with a nice piece of quilted armour and my leather cap became a steel skull cap. I found gold, too, in small piles which I sequestered into a pouch on my belt. I was beginning to feel a little overburdened; perhaps it was time to take a trip up to town soon.

A couple of times I’d felt a small surge of energy rush into me, and when it happened, any wounds I’d taken had instantly healed themselves as if I’d drunk a potion. I assumed it had to mean I was levelling up, though I had no option to choose where to put my stat points, if there were any in this rendition of the game.

My decision about town firmed when I saw several trails of blood across the stone floor, all coming from different directions but meeting before an old wooden door in the wall, as if something had dragged bleeding corpses inside. My stomach turned to see it, and the smell of decaying flesh had certainly not been present when playing this on PC. I gagged a little and moved on, thinking I knew what was behind this door. I followed the wall to the nearest corner and turned with it, axe ready. On the other side of the wall, I could hear faint, guttural grunting in time with a sharp knocking sound.

At the next corner I turned again in the same direction, and then again at the following one. One more corner and I knew that I’d just circumnavigated one big room with only one entrance: the door with the blood trails. This had to be the Butcher’s room. Swallowing nervously, I looked around. Perhaps I should look around a bit more first, before taking him on. I could only imagine how terrifying he would be in person.

My search of the rest of the level yielded nothing except a few more mobs, some more gold and an old wooden club that I discarded as soon as I picked it up. My axe was by far the better weapon. Gathering up my courage, I went back to the Butcher’s door. On the other side, I was sure I could hear a meat cleaver chopping through flesh and bone. My stomach curdled again. Fear rooted my feet to the stone beneath, and my legs felt as heavy as that same stone.

Just do it, kid, a confident voice said in my head. Sometimes you can’t run.

I took a deep breath. “You’re right, Indy,” I told the voice. “Besides, it’s just a game.” I couldn’t even remember why I’d picked Diablo anymore, but I was here, now, and all this fighting had to be good for my physical stat. To my surprise, a small part of me was looking forward to opening the door. I couldn’t die in the game anyway, so what was the risk? You can get hurt, though, a soft voice – my own – reminded me.

With a yell, I kicked the door open. The smell hit me first, sickly sweet rotting flesh that had bile rising in my throat. The chopping sound stopped as the door went crashing inward to reveal a dark room. I couldn’t see much more than a few metres in, but even that was enough to recognise pieces of bodies scattered about the floor. An arm here, a leg there, an ear or finger or head lying on the bloody stone. Heavy footsteps thundered toward me as a deep, guttural voice echoed from inside the room.

“AH! FRESH MEAT!”

A second later, a huge, red-skinned figure charged into view, an eight-foot-tall beast of a demon with muscles like a prize bull and horns like one, too. His three-toed feet squelched in the blood as he came forward, one hand clutching a cleaver I doubted I could lift with both hands, and the other holding a savage metal hook.

My suspicions had not been accurate; the Butcher was not terrifying. He was a fucking nightmare!

RUN! Indy cried in terror, backflipping on his earlier stoic resolve. I had no argument. My feet flew on wings of fear as I fled, leaving the grunting monster behind. He may have been big, but he was slow. I was putting some good distance between us, and the stairs up were in sight when I tripped on a pile of bones and went sprawling to the floor face-first, my axe flying from my hand and clattering across the stone. Winded, I rolled onto my back and tried to pull air into my flattened lungs.

Breath came back into my body with agonising slowness. In fact, everything seemed to slow down. I was trying to get to my feet, but it was taking too long. A glance over my shoulder showed the Butcher coming, red-stained cleaver lifted, his black-lipped grin showing a shark’s teeth. There was no way I was getting to my axe in time. I fumbled at my belt for the sword I still carried, but my hand fell on something else; a rolled parchment.

The Town Portal scroll! Hastily, I pulled it free and unfurled it with trembling hands. Christ, but this was petrifying! My eyes flew over the runes inscribed therein as I heard the Butcher’s low, rumbling laughter behind me. I forced myself not to look as a bright blue portal opened just in front of me, its depths swirling and eddying, hiding what was on the other side. I threw myself through with a cry, not caring where I landed. Something tugged at my boot as I did, but it barely registered as I tumbled into the Tristram town square in a clatter of items and the tinkling of the gold I’d collected.

“Oh, fuck me!” I wailed as I lay there staring at the night sky as I lay by the well in the centre of the square. Small buildings bordered the dirt square, thatch roofed and simple. I was half-mad with fear mingled with relief. “That was insane!” I pressed the heels of my palms to my eyes, trying to dispel the images of that room, that monster.

A dark, wizened face was suddenly leaning over me. “Are you well, friend?” the man asked in a thick accent, his eyes looking me over carefully. “You came out of that portal as if the Prime Evils themselves were on your heels.”

I sat up slowly, assuring Deckard Cain that I was fine. What had tugged my boot? I pulled my foot up so I could get a look, and my stomach twisted when I saw a gash running the length of the sole of my boot. The tip of the cleaver had missed my foot by millimetres. Shakily, I got to my feet. Turning away from Cain, I leaned my head over the lip of the well and vomited noisily into the water.

Stomach empty, I took a moment to catch my breath. “I think,” I said hoarsely as I scrubbed my mouth with the back of my hand. “I need some assistance with the Butcher.” I turned to see Cain eyeing me disdainfully, probably because I’d just thrown up in the town water supply.

“You should go and see Griswold,” he told me as he shuffled away. “Or perhaps Adria.”

Cain was right. Maybe I could find some extra firepower among Griswold’s or Adria’s inventory. Gathering up the equipment and gold that had come loose in my tumble, I hurried to the blacksmith’s forge at the other end of the square. Griswold stood there as I approached; his thick arms folded across a leather apron stretched over his deep chest.

“What can I do for ya?” he enquired as he eyed me up and down critically, especially the few measly pieces of gear I had in my arms.

“What can I get for these?” I asked him as I proffered my findings. The jumble consisted of a leather cap, a short sword and the rags I’d used for armour before finding the quilted piece.

“Ten gold for the lot,” he said with a grimace. “It’s mostly crap. Ya know that, right?”

I nodded. “I know. I found a nice axe, but I left it down there.”

“Shame,” he said as he took the items from me and handed me a small pile of coins he pulled from his pouch. “You gonna go back for it?”

I shook my head. “Not without some better gear. I almost got slaughtered by the Butcher.”

“Right. Well, you better have a look, then.” The big man turned and pulled a rope hanging behind him. A wooden panel I hadn’t noticed before lifted from the ground to stand like a wall. A wall adorned with weapons and pieces of armour that shone in the night.

“Whoa,” I murmured as Griswold stepped aside to let me closer.

“I keep them hidden down there so when critters come up raiding from the Cathedral, they don’t make off with all my stock.”

“I see,” I said absently as my eyes drank in the beautiful items laid out on the wall. There was a broad sword, a two-handed axe, a set of chain mail, a long bow, a round steel shield, among other things. I pointed to a short sword that looked particularly fine. “What does that do?”

“Pick it up,” he replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. I did so, and as soon as my hand closed around the hilt, the properties of the weapon became known to me. Short Sword of the Mind: +10 to Intelligence. Not quite what I was looking for. I needed strength and vitality. And firepower.

I hefted my coin pouch and grimaced. There was not going to be enough to buy what I needed. Griswold seemed to read my thoughts. “How much ya got?” he asked me bluntly. I spread my coins over a nearby table and did a quick count.

“Fifty-four,” I replied, looking up at the big man. I suddenly found myself wondering why he didn’t go into the Cathedral himself. He certainly appeared capable enough.

The blacksmith snorted and shook his head. “You ain’t gonna be buyin’ much with that, lad.”

“Is everything alright, Griswold?” a female voice said from behind me. I turned to see a pretty young woman standing there, watching me uncertainly. Fair-skinned, buxom and dark-eyed, her chocolate hair was tied up in a bun. She was wearing a simple country dress with a low neckline that showed a healthy amount of lightly freckled cleavage. “I heard a kerfuffle.”

“Aye, Gillian,” Griswold replied. “Our young hero here just needs some sturdier equipment.”

Gillian’s eyes widened, and her expression changed from uncertain to intrigued. “Oh? So, this is the man who is going to save Tristram?” She came closer and held out a hand. “It’s a pleasure, mister.” She curtsied deeply, giving me an excellent view. I cleared my throat, and Griswold chuckled knowingly.

“Likewise,” I said, smiling back at her when she straightened. “But that really isn’t necessary. The curtsying, I mean.”

“A hero deserves the respect of a simple village woman,” Gillian replied. She was looking up at me through her eyelashes. “And whatever else he desires, too.” That brought another chuckle from the blacksmith as he moved further into the forge and started tidying up his tools.

I really liked how Gillian was flirting with me, but I didn’t feel like much of a hero right now, not after fleeing from the Butcher like a little girl. Just thinking of that beast made me cold in the pit of my stomach again.

“Well,” I began with a sigh. “Don’t go handing me accolades just yet, for I fear I cannot defeat the Butcher.” I lifted my hands and flexed them in front of my face. “At least, not yet anyway.”

“Ah,” Gillian said as she stepped closer. There was a hint of mischief in her eye. “You look as if you lost your confidence, love.” She reached out and touched my arm sympathetically. “Why don’t you come over to the Rising Sun and let Gillian help you find it, ey?”

I met her gaze and found myself wondering what she looked like naked. I was still down on myself about earlier, but a look down that plunging neckline made my decision for me. Might as well enjoy myself while I’m here. It can’t be all blood and terror. When I nodded, she grinned and took my hand, leading me from the forge and across the square to the largest building in the village, the Tavern of the Rising Sun.

“Alright, Gillian?” A wiry man said from where he stood by the door, beneath a sign that swung in a light breeze.

“Alright, Odgen,” she replied happily. Odgen gave me a nod as we passed into the tavern, and a sly wink, as if he knew exactly what was going on. Inside was a large room sided by a bar and a row of empty stools. Gillian led me through to a room in the back that held a small bed and a few other items of simple furniture. A thrill of anticipation shot through me when she turned and began to undo the laces of her bodice, smoky eyes watching me watching her.

“You’re a warrior,” she said as she peeled the dress off her shoulders and began to push it down over ample hips. “And a warrior needs confidence and determination.” I nodded dumbly as I watched her pale body come into view. Her breasts were magnificent, sitting like two proud teardrops on her chest, capped by rosy, pink nipples. Her belly and thighs were perhaps a little on the plump side, but not enough to be called fat. A thin strip of hair pointed to the cleft between her legs.

I didn’t remember moving forward, but I was suddenly kissing her and seizing handfuls of whatever I could grab; hips, arse, tits, the lot. She moaned excitedly and pulled at my clothes, stripping me down until I was naked and lying on my back on the small bed. My warrior’s body was large, heavy and muscular, and the staff that stood up between my thighs was impressive to say the least. Gillian was not concerned, though, and she mounted me smoothly before impaling herself, taking me to the hilt in one glorious motion.

Suddenly feeling much better about myself, I set about giving Gillian a proper ride.

Quite some time later, we lay together in a tangle of sheets and sweaty limbs, catching our breath. Gillian’s breasts heaved on her chest as she panted, her head resting on my shoulder. “Do you feel better, love?” she asked me after a minute.

I tilted my face to hers and smiled. “Much.”

“Good,” she replied happily, pecking me on the lips before climbing over me and getting out of bed. I let her go reluctantly, wanting to pull her soft body down on top of me again. I watched her as she went to a long chest against the wall and bent to open it. Fresh desire stirred in me at the sight of her bare bottom, and the lips between her thighs still glistening from our interlude.

I sat up when she turned back, however, as she was holding a long sword across the crooks of her elbows, horizontal to the floor. Scabbarded in fine leather worked with silver, it had a hilt long enough for both hands. “What is that?” I asked as I went to her.

“This was my father’s,” she replied quietly. “It was made for him by Griswold, and it’s very powerful.

--TECHNOLOGICAL FACILITY, UNKNOWN LOCATION--

“Does this kid ever slow down?” M asked J from her sleek office chair. She was watching the main display screen on the wall, which was currently showing Subject Twenty engaged in vigorous intercourse with a buxom woman. They were on a small bed in what appeared to be a simple room made all of timber. From this point of view, it had the look of an old cottage or hut.

J left the console he was working at to go and stand next to M. She had one slim, tanned leg hooked over the arm of the chair and her fingers played lazily over her smooth sex as she watched. Her dark nipples atop her petite breasts were hard nubs. “He does not appear to,” he replied slowly as he viewed the big screen. Twenty’s lover was on all fours on the bed, crying out in pleasure as he pummelled her. Whichever title he’d chosen had put Twenty in the body of a large, strong man, possibly a warrior, judging by the buckler on the ground next to the bed. “What is the title?”

“It is called Diablo,” M replied. Her hips were lifting slightly, now, probably because she had a finger inside herself.

“How does his progress compare? Have any other subjects run this program?”

M smiled up at J, then her eyes slid down his fit body to his crotch. “Only two,” she answered a little breathily. “But they terminated shortly after beginning. It is a frightening experience, I understand.” Her other hand extended in invitation, and J moved closer so she could grip his cock. He let her stroke him while she pleasured herself. Her attentions moved back to the screen. “Interestingly,” she added, “he is close to finding a short cut.”

J’s eyebrows rose, and not just from M’s expert handling of his tool. “That is uncommon, to say the least. Are you sure?”

M squeezed his shaft a little harder than necessary, making him grunt. “I would not say it if I wasn’t.”

J grinned down at her. “I should know better than to question you. You are the best at the software. If you say he’s close, then he’s close.”

M nodded, satisfied, then went on. “In its adaptation to the technology, this program has become much more difficult than that of the original experience. And, of course, there is always the added element of injury or death, making this the most dangerous title Twenty has engaged.” She shuddered, then, and her stroking stopped for a moment as she rode a small climax. “This often happens,” she continued after a minute, “in programs with high levels of violence. Additionally, the Dianne unit is adapting to Twenty’s capabilities and presenting him with greater challenges than would be offered to a less capable individual.”

J nodded. He already knew this, but he let her speak without interruption. Her stroking felt too good to stop. “So, he has unconsciously created a potential back door?” On the screen, Twenty and the woman had collapsed onto the bed, their lovemaking finished for now. She was quite lovely, really, the woman, though a little heavy in the chest and hips for J’s liking. Still, he would not refuse her, if she offered. Under M’s sliding hand, his shaft flexed in the beginnings of his own climax.

Sensing the change, M slid the rolling chair around in front of him and took him into her mouth, one hand clutching at his buttock while the other milked him. A satisfied groan escaped J’s lips as his colleague and lover swallowed his load, only removing her lips when he was completely finished.

“Yes,” she answered finally, smacking her lips as she turned her chair back to the screen. She lifted a slim finger to point. “See?”

True to her words, the woman on the screen had retrieved a sword from somewhere and was handing it to Twenty. “What is that?” J asked, curious.

“It’s the shortcut, in the form of a weapon he can use to conquer the game. This did not exist in the original title, even in the cheat system. It appears Twenty has created it out of need.”

J looked at M in surprise. “He has that much control already?”

“Yes,” M said thoughtfully, pursing her lips as she watched Twenty hefting the sword on the screen. “After engaging in intercourse with the NPC, his synchronicity jumped twenty-five percent.” Her tilted, dark eyes flitted over the multitude of readouts on smaller displays that bordered the main one. “And another twenty percent when he took the sword.”